


Prom

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:44:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim forges new relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Honeypan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeypan/gifts).



> A/N: Ficlet for fanisyl’s “Spock crushing on Kirk but being intmidated by him, at the Starfleet Academy... Kirk being the popular guy (Spock is also but just not aware of that)” and “Kirk discussing with his friends about Spock” requests on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The second class lets out—their last one of the day—Jim’s ready and rearing to go. Sulu falls in step with him in the corridor, backpack hooked over one shoulder while Jim’s bag bangs his thighs at his side, and Sulu asks again, “You’re not really going to do this, are you?”

“I absolutely am,” Jim answers for the tenth time, not even bothering to look around. The object of his affection had a spare period during Jim’s xenolinguistics class, but most students linger around the campus for at least an hour or two to study after or enjoy the multitude of amenities, and the man Jim’s after is involved in several teacher’s assistant positions. With a little bit of luck, Jim will find him somewhere in the building. When Jim turns another corner, Sulu follows.

“He just seems so... stuck up,” Sulu mutters, which is nothing Jim hasn’t heard before. “And anyway, you’re the most emotional wildcard I’ve ever met—what’re you going to do with a Vulcan?”

Jim finally looks aside to wink and inform his friend, “Whatever that Vulcan will let me.” Sulu rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Kirk. You’re pretty much at the pinnacle of Starfleet Academy; you could have anyone you want on your arm for that graduation party...”

“And I want Spock,” Jim answers simply, then takes an abrupt turn between a cluster of Bolian women—he’s spotted a pair of pointed ears at the end of the corridor that could only belong to one Federation species. It can be difficult telling Vulcans apart from behind, so cookie-cutter as they are, but Jim’s spent enough time silently swooning to pick his favourite one out of any crowd. He speeds up his pace more than Sulu seems willing to accommodate, until Jim finds himself rushing down the hall on his own. 

Spock stops at the next door on his right, one of the science labs Jim knows all too well. Jim follows right after, and by that time, Spock’s made it to the side of the room, hand held out over a medical table. 

Jim’s roommate stands on the other side, running a beeping tricorder over it. He’s frowning, like Bones often is, but deeper with the intense concentration that comes with his craft. He doesn’t look up when Jim wanders closer, but Spock does. 

Jim flashes his most charming smile, but Spock’s bow lips don’t waver from their thin frown. His cheeks tint ever-so-slightly green, and he looks away while Bone grunts, “Jim.”

“What happened?” Jim asks, nodding towards Spock’s hand. Now that he’s close enough, he can see the dark green blood smeared across the knuckles and the darkening of bruised skin around it. 

Spock doesn’t answer, and Bones answers a different question. “It’s minor tissue damage apparently any _student_ could handle,” he grumbles distinctly, just as an older human woman brushes past them—likely the professor that seems to have relegated the task to Bones.

At the door, she calls back to Bones, “Thank you for taking care of that, Mr. McCoy. Catch the lights on your way out, please.” And then she’s gone, the door sliding automatically shut again behind her, and it’s just the three of them inside the small training lab. 

So Jim turns back, this time looking straight at Spock, and repeats, “What happened?”

Spock turns to him with a very subtle look of minor surprise. It could just be over being directly addressed, so Jim dons his winning smile again and thrusts out a hand, introducing, “Jim Kirk.”

Still frowning, Spock glances at but doesn’t take Jim’s hand. Then he replies slowly, in the same deep, methodical voice that’s answered one too many classroom questions before Jim, “I am aware of who you are—we share the highest grades in nine different classes.”

Jim drops his hand, grinning even wider. Before he can say anything else, Bones grunts, “Damnit.” When the two others look over at him, he waves the new instrument in his hands and mutters, “The dermal regenerator’s acting up. I’ll have to get another one out of the supply closet—be right back.” Spock nods in acquiescence and Jim says nothing, while Bones turns and heads for the back door into whatever rooms lie beyond—Jim tries not to wander too deeply into medical wards. It leaves the room down to two. 

Jim turns back to Spock and says, “I’m glad. I didn’t think you’d noticed me.” He’d worried that, even though they’ve shared many furtive looks here and there, maybe in competition or maybe in mutual respect, but only ever in that formal setting with Starfleet bristling all around them. Each time he’s connected with Spock’s dark eyes, he’s felt a spark of wonder over if there might be _more_.

But Spock only says, “Everyone has noticed you.”

Jim bites back a laugh and brushes his easy popularity aside. “I didn’t think that extended to Starfleet Academy’s illustrious half-Vulcan Adonis.”

Though Jim meant it as a maybe-too-blunt compliment, Spock’s eyebrows merely knit together in confusion. Maybe he doesn’t understand the reference. Jim doesn’t bother to explain and just shoves his hands into his pockets, leaning sideways against the counter for a relaxed posture. Nodding to Spock’s hand again, he asks, “So, seriously... what happened?”

Spock eyes Jim for a moment, seeming to consider something, then replies, “If you wish to speak with Mr. McCoy, I will be gone shortly.”

As a possible rejection, it stings, but Jim’s naturally optimistic and persistent and clarifies, “Actually, I wanted to speak to you.” When Spock lifts a curious eyebrow, Jim prods the conversation along. “Though now it seems like you’re avoiding the question.”

Spock must be. Because he hesitates again, lips parting only to say nothing. Jim’s eyes dart down to them, then up the long lines of Spock’s face, his high cheekbones and the jet-black, straight-across bangs that neatly line his yellowish skin. Jim’s always found something strangely attractive about the blunt line of his triangular brows and something wildly alluring to the pointed tips of his ears. He’s a foreign, exotic beauty, but more so than that, he seems to _draw Jim in_ , in some odd, intangible way that Jim can’t quite put his finger on. This is the first time they’ve been truly alone together, and it feels far more intimate than it reasonably should.

Finally, Spock says, “If you wish to borrow notes from me, I am not in the habit of perpetuating academic deception. It is expected that you will take such notes yourself; I have already dismantled the idea that aiding a fellow student in the sharing of notes is logical.” Jim can feel his eyes opening wider with his sheer surprise, but Spock seems to misinterpret his silence and presses on, “You will not be able to intimidate me in this; I have already refused beings much stronger than yourself.”

Other Vulcans, if the ‘logical idea’ is anything to go by. It takes Jim a minute to process all that, during which Spock stares at him somewhere between coldly and hopefully, in that toneless way of his. The only reason Jim can read any expressions at all is that he’s spent so much time observing Spock, first in mild interest, then fascination, now a crush. He works out slowly, “...Others beat you up because you wouldn’t share notes?”

“No, it... was a minor scuffle,” Spock corrects. But he looks nervous for it, and now even more confused, as though he can’t fathom why else Jim would be here if not to repeat the experience. When Jim’s frown holds firm, Spock adds, “My popularity is not as immaculate as yours.”

That’s no explanation. Jim counters, “Sure it is. ...Even if you can’t see it.” Spock doesn’t look so sure.

Spock looks down at his hand. Maybe it was a full-fledged attack, or maybe it was just a minor skirmish between students, but Jim’s heart fills for Spock anyway. He doesn’t know Spock that well, not beyond his own observations, but he feels like Spock’s too _good_ for stupid fights. Even if Jim isn’t. He shuffles his feet, wanting to keep them talking.

But none of this is going how he thought, and Bones could be back any moment, so Jim finally sighs and gives one last attempt at pretense, prodding, “You probably have a ton of invitations for the graduation party next moth.”

Spock looks sharply up at him and doesn’t answer. So Jim offers just in case, “Want another?” 

Spock’s eyes widen slightly around the edges before he catches himself, regaining neutrality but still muttering dazedly, “What?”

Jim shrugs and tries to be casual. “I’ve been watching you lately. And not just because you happen to have _beat_ me in nine classes. ...I like your process, Spock. How you think, how hard you work, the brilliant proposals you come up with that no one else could’ve thought of. ...And of course, you’re very easy on the eyes.” He ends with another charming grin, and when Spock just _stares_ at him, Jim tries, “If you don’t want to go with a total stranger, though, we could start with coffee? Maybe when Bones is done here? My treat, to make up for how the other students treated you.”

Spock’s brow knits together again, and he asks slowly, “Are you... asking me on a... _date_?”

“Yes. How about it?”

Spock doesn’t seem to have an answer. Which is better than Jim expected. He doesn’t even know if Spock’s interested in men, let alone life-of-the-party troublemakers like Jim, which Spock’s surely heard of despite Jim’s impeccable record in the classroom. They’re spared from the silence by Bones returning, grumbling to himself and carrying a new tool.

The room’s quiet as Bones heals Spock’s hand, though Spock looks uncomfortable the second Bones takes hold of it to do so. Jim would say something if it weren’t a medical issue and he wasn’t busy waiting for an answer of his own. When the cut’s healed, the blood already wiped away, Bones announces, “All better,” and then asks Jim, “You wanna go for a drink, Jimbo?”

Any other night, Jim would say yes. He’ll need one soon anyway, to explain to Bones his odd choice in dates, which Bones—loving, over protective friend that he is—will likely have a lot to say about. But Jim doesn’t get a chance to reply, because Spock hurriedly cuts in, “Mr. Kirk and I have a prior engagement.”

Bones looks at Spock like he’s sprouted a second head, and Jim _beams_. He asks softly, “How’s the hand?”

“Adequate,” Spock answers, which is likely Vulcan for ‘good as new.’ Jim nods.

Then he chirps, “Good,” and reaches out to take it. There’s a sudden spark of _pleasure_ that jolts through him, his head lifting instantly for his eyes to connect with Spock’s, something flittering through them. An understanding. Spock’s cheeks flush a little greener, but he doesn’t pull his hand away from Jim’s. 

Jim guides him out the classroom by it, waving goodbye to a disgruntled Bones and off on a promising new voyage.


End file.
